Der Waldgang

By
Ernst Juenger


The Retreat into the Forest
1.
Fear is one of the most characteristic phenomena of our age. Its
appearance is all the more perplexing, because it follows closely upon an
era of individual freedom in which even the misery which was still familiar
to Dickens had become almost unknown. How did this reversal come
about? Were one to choose a turning point, one would find none more
suitable than the day of the Titanic shipwreck. There light and darkness
clash; the hubris of progress is confronted by panic, luxurious comfort by
destruction, automatism by the catastrophe which appears as a traffic
accident.
Indeed, increasing automatism and anxiety are closely related. They
appear whenever man limits the scope of his decisions in order to ease his
fate by technological means. To be sure, these limitations result in a variety
of conveniences; but they are accompanied by an increasing loss of
freedom. The individual is no longer rooted in society as a tree in a forest,
rather he is comparable to the passenger in a rapidly moving vehicle whose
name may be Titanic, but also Leviathan. As long as the weather holds
and the outlook is pleasant, he will scarcely notice the curtailment of his
freedom. He may even be filled with optimism and with the consciousness
of power produced by the sense of speed. But all this changes when the
fiery volcanic islands and icebergs emerge on the horizon. Then not only
will technology claim a right to dominate fields other than the procurement
of comfort, but at the same time the lack of freedom will become apparent
be it in the victory of elemental forces or in the fact that individuals who
have remained strong acquire the means to exercise absolute power.

It may be objected that ages of anxiety and of apocalyptic panic occurred
without a comparable automatism. This may be, for the automatism
becomes terrifying only when it is revealed as one of the forms, indeed as
the style of nemesis. The anxiety of modern man may be of a very special
sort or it may be merely the contemporary incarnation of a recurrent
cosmic anxiety. This problem need not detain us. Rather we should ask a
question which concerns all of us: is it possible to reduce the fear while the
automatism of the age persists, or rather, while this automatism as may
be anticipated makes further progress toward its ultimate perfection?
Can we stay on shipboard and at the same time reserve our powers of free
decision? Can we not merely preserve, but strengthen the roots which still
cling to the prime depths of being? This is the essential question of our
time.
The reader will have experienced a change in the nature of what is
considered a question. We are constantly confronted by forces that
question us. And their inquisitiveness is by no means motivated by a
concern with ideas. In approaching us with their questions, they do not
expect us to promote the cause of objective truth, or even to contribute to
the solution of any specific problems. They are not concerned with our
solutions, but with our answers. This distinction is relevant. Increasingly,
the act of questioning takes on the characteristics of a cross examination,
a process which can be studied in the development which leads from the
ballot-box to the questionnaire.
The ballot is designed to determine a factual relationship, the will of the
voter, and the act of voting is so organized that it may be expressed
without outside intervention or influence. Hence the act of voting is
accompanied by the feeling of security and even by the sense of power
which distinguishes of sovereign expression of the free will within a sphere
protected by law. But the contemporary, obliged to reply to a
questionnaire, is far removed from this sense of security. His statements
are far-reaching in their implications, for his fate may depend upon them.
We see individuals confronted by a situation in which they are asked to
procure documents designed to cause their ruin. And how trivial are the
things which nowadays determine the destruction of man! It stands to
reason that the change in the nature of the process of questioning points
to an order of things altogether different from that at the beginning of the
century. The old security has disappeared, and we must adjust our thinking
accordingly. Questions press in on us ever more closely, ever more
menacingly, and the manner in which we answer becomes increasingly
significant. And even silence has become an answer. These are the
dilemmas of the age, and there is no escape from them.
Another characteristic of our period is the intertwining of significant events
with insignificant representatives. This is particularly remarkable in our
great men. They make the impression of figures which can be seen in any
number in the coffee-houses of Vienna or in provincial officers clubs. These
are the men who cause millions to tremble, who shape the fate of countless
numbers. And yet they are the very men whom our time has selected with
unfailing tact, if we consider it under one of its aspects, that of a
tremendous wrecking enterprise. All these liquidations, rationalizations,
socializations, electrifications and pulverizations require neither culture nor
character, both of which are a threat to the automatism. Wherever in our
period power is essential, it is attracted by the individual in whom the
insignificant is coupled with a strong will.

Such phenomena have occurred before in the history of mankind. They
might be counted among the atrocities which are rarely missing when great
transformations take place. More disquieting is the fact that cruelty
threatens to become not an accompaniment but an inseparable element of
the new power structures, and that the individual is exposed to it without
any possibility of defending himself. There are several reasons for this,
above all the fact that rational thinking is itself cruel and that this cruelty
then enters into the process of planning. The extinction of free competition
plays a special part, leading to a curious distortion. For competition is like
a race in which the most skillful win the prize. Where it ceases, it is replaced
domestically by great pressures for a general sinecure at the expense of
the state, while external competition the race between the states
continues.
Terror steps into the resulting gap. The speed formerly produced by the
race of competition must now be produced by fear. In the one case the
standards of efficiency depend on high pressure, in the other on a vacuum.
There it is the winner who sets the pace, here it is the man who is worse
off. For this reason the state feels constantly compelled to subject a
segment of its population to atrocities. Life has become gray, but it may
well seem bearable to the man who, next to himself, sees the absolute
black of utter darkness. These, and not their economic implications, are
the dangers of extensive planning.
The selection of the persecuted groups is a question of secondary
importance. They will always be minorities, set apart either by nature or
artificial construction. Obviously, all who are distinguished by virtue of
tradition or excellence will be endangered. It is understandable that under
these conditions human beings would rather submit to the most oppressive
burdens than to be counted among those who are different. Seemingly
without effort the automatism succeeds in destroying the remnants of free
will, and persecution becomes ubiquitous like an all-pervasive element.
Escape may be possible for a favored few, but it usually leads to something
worse. Resistance only animates the Leviathan by giving him a welcome
pretext for repressive measures. In the face of such conditions only one
hope seems to remain, that the process may spend itself like a volcano
spends its fiery ashes. But at this point a question arises, which is not at
all theoretical, but an inevitable concomitant of every contemporary
existence whether there is not, after all, another road that may be traveled,
whether there do not exist mountain passes which can be discovered only
after a long ascent.
New conceptions of authority and great concentrations of power have
arisen. In order to resist them, we require a new conception of freedom
transcending the anemic abstractions we have come to associate with this
term. The first prerequisite for this new awareness is that man must not
content himself with being left in peace; that he must be ready to risk his
life. In that case, we shall soon learn that even in the states in which the
power of the police has become overwhelming, independence is by no
means extinct. The armor of the new Leviathan has its chinks which must
be constantly sought out, an activity requiring both caution and audacity
of a kind hitherto unknown. This suggests that elites are about to begin the
struggle for a new freedom which will require great sacrifice and which
must not be interpreted in a manner unworthy of it. In order to find
analogies we must go back to ages of strength, say, to the period of the
Huguenots or of the guerillas as Goya saw them in his Desastros. Compared
to these, the storming of the Bastille an event which still provides
nourishment for the current notion of freedom appears like a Sunday
stroll into the suburbs.
Is there at least one root left which will open up the riches of the soil?
Health and life depend upon it -beyond all civilization, and beyond its
safeguards. This becomes evident in periods of extreme danger, when the
apparatus not only forsakes the individual but even turns against him. Then
each individual must decide whether he wants to surrender or to persevere
by relying on his own and innermost strength. In this case he may choose
the retreat into the forest (Waldgang).

2.
The ship is a symbol of temporal existence, the forest a symbol of
supratemporal being. In our nihilistic epoch, optical illusions multiply and
motion seems to become pervasive. Actually, however, all the
contemporary display of technical power is merely an ephemeral reflection
of the richness of Being. In gaining access to it, and be it only for an instant,
man will gain inward security: the temporal phenomena will not only lose
their menace, but they will assume a positive significance. We shall call
this reorientation toward being the retreat into the forest (Waldgang), and
the man who carries it out the wanderer in the forest (Waldgnger). Similar
to the term worker (Arbeiter), it signifies a scale of values. For it applies
not only to a variety of forms of activity, but also to various stages in the
expression of an underlying attitude. The term has its prehistory in an old
Icelandic custom. The retreat into the forest followed upon proscription.
Through it a man asserted his will to survive by virtue of his own strength.
That was held to be honorable, and it is still so today in spite of all
commonplaces to the contrary.
Wanderers in the forest (Waldgnger) are all those who, isolated by great
upheavals, are confronted with ultimate annihilation. Since this could be
the fate of many, indeed, of all, another defining characteristic must be
added: the wanderer in the forest (Waldgnger) is determined to offer
resistance. He is willing to enter into a struggle that may appear hopeless.
Hence he is distinguished by an immediate relationship to freedom which
expresses itself in the fact that he is prepared to oppose the automatism
and to reject its ethical conclusion of fatalism. If we look at him in this
fashion, we shall understand the role which the retreat into the forest
(Waldgang) plays not only in our thoughts but also in the realities of our
age. Everyone today is subject to coercion, and the attempts to banish it
are bold experiments upon which depends a destiny far greater than the
fate of those who dare to undertake them.

The retreat into the forest (Waldgang) is not to be understood as a form of
anarchism directed against the world of technology, although this is a
temptation, particularly for those who strive to regain a myth.
Undoubtedly, mythology will appear again. It is always present and arises
in a propitious hour like a treasure coming to the surface. But man does
not return to the realm of myth, he reencounters it when the age is out of
joint and in the magic circle of extreme danger. It is not a question
therefore of choosing the forest or the ship but of choosing both the forest
and the ship. The number of those who want to abandon the ship is
growing, and among them are clear heads and fine minds. But it amounts
to a disembarkation in mid-ocean. Hunger will follow, and cannibalism, and
the sharks: in short, all the terrors that have been reported from the raft
of Medusa. Hence it is advisable under all circumstances to stay aboard
even at the danger of being blown up. This objection is not directed against
the poet who reveals through his life as well as through his work the
vast superiority of the artistic universe over the world of technology. He
helps man to rediscover himself: the poet is a wanderer in the forest
(Waldgnger), for authorship is merely another form of independence.
In general, we are not concerned with specific political and technological
configurations. Their fleeting images pass, but the menace remains or
returns with ever greater speed and with increased impact. The opponents
come to resemble one another to such an extent that it is easy to recognize
them as disguises of the very same power. Our task then is not to master
the external phenomena here or there, but to subdue the age. That
requires a sovereign will which, nowadays, is to be found less in heroic
decisions than in the man who has forsworn fear in his own heart. The
immense precautions of the state are directed against him and him alone,
and yet ultimately they are destined to bring about his triumph. When he
realizes this, he is liberated and dictatorships sink into dust. Therein lie the
untapped resources of our age and not only of ours. This is the theme of
all history and it defines history, setting it apart from the realm of the
demons and from mere zoological events. It is anticipated by myth and by
the great religions, and recurs forever. Again and again giants and titans
appear with the same seemingly overwhelming superiority, only to be felled
by the free man who need not always be a prince or a Heracles. The stone
from the sling of the shepherd, the banner raised by a maiden, and a
crossbow, have also been known to suffice.
3.
At this point another question arises. To what extent is freedom desirable
in the first place? Can it serve a purpose within our present historical
situation? Is it not a distinctive merit of contemporary man and a merit
easily underestimated that he knows how to renounce freedom to so
large an extent? In many ways he is like a soldier marching toward
unknown destinations or like a worker building a palace others shall inhabit.
Nor is this his worst aspect. Should he be distracted as long as the process
continues? There is no doubt that there are goals served by countless
millions who lead lives which would be unbearable without this prospect
and which cannot be explained in terms of sheer coercion. The sacrifices
will perhaps reap them glory only in a distant future, but they will not have
been in vain. The processes will continue, and as in all conditions ordained
by fate, the attempts to delay the development and to revert to points of
departure will only serve to further and to accelerate the course of events.
It is well to remain aware of the inevitable in order to avoid being lost in
illusions. Freedom coexists with necessity, and only after freedom enters
into a relation with necessity can the new state of mind emerge. Every
transformation of the concept of necessity has brought with it a change in
the concept of freedom. For this reason the notions of freedom of 1789
have become obsolete and are no longer effective against the coercion of
our time. Freedom in itself is immortal, but in each period it appears in a
different guise and must be conquered anew. History in the true sense can
be made only by free men; it is the form given by the free to his destiny.
In this sense, man can act as a symbol; his sacrifice includes and counts
for the other members of the community. It cannot be our task, then, to
change the design of the universe. But palaces could be built upon it and
not only the ant-heaps anticipated by the utopias of our day.

Let us consider a further objection. Should we restrict ourselves to a
philosophy of catastrophe? Should we and be it only in our spiritual
preoccupations seek out the waters of extreme danger, the cataracts,
the maelstroms, the huge abysses? This is an objection not to be
underestimated. Much is to be said for the judicious man who maps out
the safe itineraries with the firm will to persevere in his course. It is a
problem which can assume practical aspects, as in the case of armaments.
Armaments are designed for the eventuality of war, to begin with as a
preventive measure. Subsequently, they lead to a borderline situation
where preparedness seems to invite war. There are kinds of investment
which, under all circumstances, must end in bankruptcy. Thus systems of
lightning-rods are conceivable which would ultimately bring on the
thunderstorms. The same considerations apply in the spiritual realm. In
considering the marginal case, we may overlook the routes itll open.
However, one does not exclude the other. Rather reason demands that we
consider all possible eventualities, and keep a response in readiness for
each, as one does on the chessboard.
In our situation it is our duty to reckon with catastrophe, to sleep with it,
so to speak, so that we shall not be caught unaware. Only in this manner
can we acquire a reserve of security which will enable us to act reasonably.
In a state of complete security our thought merely plays with the possibility
of catastrophe. We include it in our plans as an improbable eventuality,
and we protect ourselves with minimal precautions. In our days the reverse
must be the case. We must spend almost our entire capital on the
possibility of catastrophe precisely in order to keep open the middle road
that has become as narrow as the edge of a knife.
But we are concerned here with the threat to which the individual is
exposed, and with his fear, not with politics or political ideas.
Fundamentally the individual is only interested in his profession, in his
family, and in the pursuit of his inclinations, but, sooner or later, the age
intrudes upon him. Either conditions gradually deteriorate or he is exposed
to extremes. Expropriation, compulsory labor, and worse appear on his
horizon. Before long, he will realize that neutrality would be tantamount to
suicide you must either howl with the wolves or fight them.
Where in his distress can he find a third solution which leaves him some
freedom from the dynamics of the events? Only in his existence as an
individual, in his own being which remains unshaken. Anyone who has
escaped from catastrophes knows that, in the last analysis, he owed his
rescue to simple human beings who did not submit to the power of hatred
and fear or to the automatism of slogans. They resisted the impact of
propaganda and of technical suggestiveness, the impact of all demoniac
forces of our civilization. Immeasurable may be the blessings when such
virtue becomes visible in the leaders of nations, as it became manifest in
Augustus. Upon this virtue empires are founded. The prince does not rule
by killing, but by giving life. Therein lies one of the great hopes, that among
the faceless millions one perfect human being may arise.
Among such humans we may name Socrates whose example inspired not
only the Stoa but countless spirits of all ages. We may differ in our opinions
concerning the life and the teachings of this man; his death belongs to the
greatest of all events. The world is such that prejudice and passion will
ever again demand blood. It is necessary to realize that this will never be
otherwise. The arguments change, but stupidity sits forever in judgment.
Men were brought before its tribunal first, because they despised the gods;
then because they did not recognize a dogma; or again, because they
offended against a theory. There exists no great word or noble thought in
the name of which blood has not been spilled. The message of Socrates
resides in the conviction of the invalidity of the verdict which testifies to a
standard transcending the human scale. The true verdict was spoken long
before the trial began and took expression in the exaltation of the victim.
The trial is perennial, and the philistines who sat in judgment then may be
met today on every street corner and in every parliament. The idea that
this might end has always distinguished the shallow thinkers. But human
greatness must be reconquered again and again. It triumphs whenever
man masters the onslaught of vulgarity in his own heart. Therein resides
the real substance of history; in the encounter of man with himself, that is
to say, with his own divine power. That must be understood if one wishes
to teach history.
Socrates called the sphere where he was counseled by a voice not to be
expressed in words, his daimonion. It might also be called the forest. But
what does it mean to the contemporary if we advise him to follow the
example of the man who conquered death, the models of gods, heroes,
and sages? It means that he participates in the resistance against the age,
and, indeed, not against this age only, but against every age whose basic
motivation is fear. It is in the nature of things that education today aims
at the very opposite. Never before have such strange notions concerning
the teaching of history existed. All these systems are designed to cut off
the influx of metaphysics, to domesticate and to drill the spirits for the
benefit of the collective. Even when the Leviathan is obliged to rely upon
courage, as on the battlefield, it will attempt to keep the fighting man in
place with a second and stronger menace. In such states one depends on
the police.
We touch here the core of modern suffering, the great emptiness, which
Nietzsche called the growth of the desert. The desert is growing; this is the
spectacle of civilization with its draining relationships. In this landscape we
yearn for sustenance: The desert is growing; woe to him who contains
deserts within himself. It will be well if the churches create oases. It will
be better still if man is not satisfied even with that. The church can give us
assistance, but not existence. The decision will take place within man; no
one can spare him his travails. The great loneliness of the individual
belongs to the characteristics of the age. He is surrounded and imprisoned
by anxiety which closes in upon him like approaching walls. Anxiety
becomes tangible in the prisons, in slavery, and in the battles of modern
war. These experiences fill the thoughts, the soliloquies, perhaps even the
diaries in years when a man may not even trust his closest neighbor. Yet
the proximity of saving powers is also felt. The terrors are alarms,
symptoms of ever more insistent questions which are being put to man.
No one can spare him the answer.
The desert is growing; the faded, infertile spheres are multiplying. The
fields which gave life purpose are disappearing; so are the gardens from
which one can take nourishment without suspicion, the sheds which have
familiar tools. The laws have become dubious, the weapons double-edged.
Woe to him who harbors deserts; who does not contain, be it only in one
cell, the substance which ever again guarantees fertility.

4.
It is frightening how concepts and objects often change their appearance
over night, and produce wholly unexpected results. That is a symptom of
anarchy. Let us consider, for instance, freedom and the rights of the
individual in relation to authority. These are determined by the
constitution. Again and again, and, unfortunately, for some time to come,
we will have to expect the violation of these rights by the state, by a party
which has seized the state, by a foreign invader, or by a combination of
these forces. It may be said that the masses, at least in our country, are
in a state where they scarcely perceive the violation of the constitution any
longer. It seems that they are far more concerned with football games than
with their own basic rights. Once this consciousness is lost, it cannot be
restored artificially.
The violation of a law can assume a legal varnish; for example, when a
ruling party prevails upon a majority to change the constitution. The
majority can be right and yet commit wrong, a contradiction that the
simple-minded cannot grasp. Even at plebiscites it is often difficult to
decide where the law ends and violence begins. These encroachments can
gradually gain in strength until they assume the character of pure
atrocities. Those who witnessed these actions, accompanied by the
applause of the masses, know that traditional expedients are of no avail
against them. Suicide is not to be expected from everybody, least of all
when recommended from abroad. No fate is more hopeless than to live in
a period in which the law has become a weapon.
In Germany, resistance against authority is, or was, especially difficult
because, from the days of legitimate monarchy, the population preserved
a modicum of respect for the state. Hence the individual found it difficult
to understand why the victorious powers prosecuted him, not merely by
means of a blanket accusation of collective guilt, but also as an individual
for having, for example, continued in his profession as a conductor of an
orchestra or as a public official. Although this state of mind produced some
grotesque results, we must not treat it as a mere curiosity. It is indicative
of a new feature in our world, in which foreigners may accuse the individual
as a collaborator with popular movements, while political parties try him
as a sympathizer of unpopular causes. The individual is thus placed
between Scylla and Charybdis; he is threatened with liquidation either
because he participated or because he failed to participate.
Hence, a high degree of courage is required which will enable him to defend
the cause of justice all alone, and even against the power of the state. It
will be doubted whether such men can be found. Some will appear,
however, and they will be wanderers in the forest (Waldgnger). Even
against his will, this type of man will enter the historical scene, for there
are forms of coercion that leave no choice.

It may seem strange that a single individual, or even several, should resist
the Leviathan. Yet it is precisely through their action that the colossus
reveals its vulnerability. For even a handful of determined men can become
a threat, not only morally but physically. Again and again we witness that
two or three gangsters can upset an entire metropolitan district, and cause
lengthy sieges. If the relationship is reversed, if the authorities turn
criminal and men of justice offer resistance, incomparably greater effects
can be produced. The consternation of Napoleon at the uprising of Mallct,
a single, but unbending man is a well-known instance.
Let us assume that a small number of truly free men are left in a city or
state. In that case the breach of the constitution would carry a heavy risk.
In this sense, the theory of collective guilt is justified, for the possibility of
violating a law is directly proportional to the degree of resistance it
encounters at the hands of freedom. An attack on the invulnerability and,
indeed, on the sanctity of the home would not have been possible in old
Iceland, in the form in which it was possible as a purely administrative
measure in Berlin in 1933, in the midst of a population of several millions.
As an honorable exception we should mention a young Social Democrat
who killed half a dozen of the so-called auxiliary police at the entrance of
his apartment. He still partook of the substantial Old-Germanic sense of
freedom which his opponents celebrated in their theories. Naturally, he had
not learned this from the program of his party.
Let us suppose, furthermore, that the authorities would have had to expect
an incident of this sort in every street of Berlin. In that case, things would
have been different. Long periods of peace and quiet favor certain optical
illusions. Among them is the assumption that the invulnerability of the
home is founded upon the constitution and safeguarded by it. In reality, it
rests upon the father of the family who, accompanied by his sons, appears
with the ax on the threshold of his dwelling. This truth is not always
apparent, however. Nor is it to be construed as an objection to the
constitution. It is simply that the old saying still holds: the man must vouch
for his oath; the oath cannot vouch for the man. The German has been
reproached for his lack of resistance to official acts of violence and perhaps
justifiably. He did not yet know the rules of the game, and he felt
threatened from other directions where there has never been any question
of basic human rights. Those who died in a hopeless struggle, unarmed,
and in defense of their wives and children, are, as yet, hardly noticed. But
their lonely destruction will become known. For it counts as a weight in the
scale of history. We, who survived, must see to it, however, that the
spectacle of coercion which met no resistance shall never be repeated.

5.
We live in a period in which it is difficult to distinguish between war and
peace, and the boundaries between merit and crime are obscured by
intermediary shades. This deceives even sharp eyes. For into every case of
individual guilt enters the confusion of the age, the collective guilt. An
aggravating circumstance is the fact that there are no sovereigns left, and
that all who exercise power have risen by way of feuding political parties.
This reduces from the very outset the capacity for actions oriented toward
the welfare of the whole: that is, for impartiality, for generosity, and for
development. Those who exercise power prefer instead to live off the
whole; they are incapable of preserving it, and of increasing it through their
inner abundance, through being. Hence, capital is wasted by victorious
factions for the benefit of shortsighted aims and conceptions.
The only consolation is the realization that this spectacle is part of a
descent which leads in a definite direction and toward definite goals. In
former times, phases such as the present were termed an interregnum.
Their distinctive characteristic is the absence of ultimate values. But it is
already a significant achievement that we recognize this, and the
realization is of much greater value than the attempt to reintroduce old
and obsolete values with the pretense that they might still be effective. Our
eyes reject Gothic ornaments in the world of machinery; in the moral realm
a similar law obtains.
When all institutions have become dubious or even infamous, when you
hear prayers being offered not for the persecuted but for the persecutors,
then the ethical responsibility shifts to the individual, or rather to the
individual who is still unbroken, the wanderer in the forest (Waldgnger).
It is a hard decision which he must make that he will reserve the right of
independent judgment whatever the cause for which his approval or
participation is solicited. It will require a considerable sacrifice, but it will
also lead to an immediate gain in sovereignty. As matters stand, this gain
will be felt as such only by very few. Yet the power of sovereign rule can
come only from those who have preserved the awareness of the primal
scales of value, only from the men who cannot be induced to renounce
humanity by any superiority of force.
The great experience of the forest consists of the encounter with the Ego,
with the self, with the inviolate core and essence that sustains the temporal
and individual appearance. This encounter, so decisive for the conquest of
health and for the victory over fear, is also supreme in its moral value. It
leads to the primal basis of all social intercourse, to the man whose
example defines individuality. In this sphere we will encounter not only
community but also identity. This is the symbolic meaning of the embrace:
the Ego recognizes itself in the other human being in the saying, This is
you. The other can be the beloved, the sufferer, or the helpless victim. In
giving help, the Ego helps its own immortal essence and confirms the basic
ethical order of the universe.
Countless men are alive today who have traversed the nadirs of the
nihilistic process. They know that the mechanism reveals itself as an ever-
greater menace that man has entered into the interior of a huge machine
which has been designed for his annihilation. They have learned that every
form of rationalism leads to machine-like mechanism, and every
mechanism to torture as its logical consequence, a fact which the
nineteenth century failed to grasp. A miracle must take place if a man is to
escape from such whirlpools. And this miracle has taken place times
without number when among the faceless numbers there appeared an
individual and gave succor. This was the case even in the prisons and,
indeed, especially there. In every situation and in his relation to every man,
the individual can become the brother this is his genuine, his sovereign,
trait. The origin of nobility was the task of protection protection against
the threats of beasts and monsters. This is the token of the aristocratic
being, and it shines forth in the guard who secretly gives a piece of bread
to a prisoner. Such actions can never cease, for the world subsists on them.
They are the sacrifices upon which it rests.


Taking the Forest Way
14.
The fundamental question amid all this turmoil is: can humanity be
liberated from fear? This is far more important than arming people or
supplying them with medicines. Those who are unafraid have power and
health. Conversely, fear also lays siege to those who are armed to the teeth
to them above all. The same can be said of someone swimming in
abundance. The threat cannot be banished by weapons or riches. These
are just means to that end.
Fear and danger are so closely entwined that it is scarcely possible to say
which of these two forces generates the other. Fear is more important, so
we must start with that if we want to loosen the knot.
People must be warned, however, against trying to do the opposite, that
is: attempting to start with the danger. Simply trying to make oneself more
dangerous than the thing one fears will not achieve the solution. This is the
classic relationship between Red and White, between Red and Red, and
tomorrow perhaps between White and Colored. Terror is like a fire that
wants to consume the world. Simultaneously, the fear multiplies. The
person who puts an end to fear legitimizes himself as one who is called
upon to rule. This is a person who has previously mastered fear.
It is also important to know that fear cannot be completely banished. That
would not go beyond automatism. On the contrary it would introduce fear
into the inner depths of man. Fear will always remain the great partner in
the dialogue when a person thinks things over. In this fear strives for
monologue, and only in that role does it have the last word.
However, if fear is forced back into dialogue, the human being can have
his say. This also dispels the impression that he has no way out. Another
solution will always be apparent besides the automatic one. So there are
now two ways; or, in other words, freedom of choice is re-established.
Even if one is prepared to accept the worst case of breakdown, there
remains a distinction between light and darkness. Here the way rises into
high realms, towards a sacrificial death or to the fate of one who falls
fighting; there it sinks into the lowly spheres of slave-camps and slaughter
houses where primitives murderously unite with technology. There destiny
is absent, and only numbers exist. Having a destiny or being regarded as
a statistic: this is a decision that is forced on everyone today, but which
has to be taken individually. The individual is just as sovereign today as in
any other period of history, perhaps even more so? As collective powers
gain ground, the individual becomes separated from the old, established
associations and stands alone. He now becomes the opponent of Leviathan,
even its conqueror, its master.
Let us return once again to the image of choice. As we saw, the process of
choice has become an automatic accord determined by the organizer. The
individual can be and is compelled to participate in this. He need only know
that all the positions he is able to adopt within this sphere are equally vain.
It makes no difference whether a hunted animal moves here or there if it
is in a trap.
Freedom is completely different to mere opposition, and cannot be
achieved by flight. We called this place the forest. There one has means
other than a No expressed in the area prescribed. Admittedly, we have
seen that, in the present state of decline, perhaps only one person in a
hundred is capable of taking the forest way. But this is not a question of
percentages. If a theatre catches fire, a single clear thinker, a single stout
heart, is sufficient to put a stop to the panic of a thousand people, all
threatening to crush one another and succumb to their animal fear.
Mention here of individuals refers to true human beings, without the
overtones the idea has attracted over the past two centuries. The reference
is to the free human being as God created him. This human being is not an
exception, does not embody an elite. He is in fact concealed within
everyone, and differences only arise out of the degree to which the
individual manages to implement the freedom granted to him. As a thinker,
a friend, as one who knows and loves, one has to help him achieve that.
It can also be said that man is sleeping in the forest. In the moment when
he awakens and recognizes his power, order is restored. The higher rhythm
of history can generally be interpreted in terms of the human being
periodically rediscovering himself. The powers that want to mask this are
sometimes totemic, sometimes magical, and sometimes technological.
Then rigidity increases, accompanied by fear. The arts petrify and dogma
becomes absolute. But the spectacle of man removing his mask has
repeated itself since earliest times, to be followed by joy, the reflection of
freedom.
Under the spell of powerful optical illusions, we have become accustomed
to seeing the human being as a grain of sand in comparison with his
machines and all his apparatus. However, this apparatus is and remains
the setting for the lower imagination. The human being has created this
apparatus, and he can dismantle it or incorporate it in a new meaning. The
bonds of technology can be broken, and the individual is the one to do this.

29.
In the case of attack by a foreign army, taking the forest way becomes a
means of waging war. That applies especially to weak or unarmed states.
Someone taking the forest way does not ask how advanced armaments
are, or whether they exist at all. The forest way can be taken at any time
and in any place, even against vastly superior powers. In such a case it is
in fact the only means of resistance.
The person who follows this course is not a soldier. He does not know
military conventions and their discipline. His life is both freer and harder
than that of a soldier. Followers of the forest way are recruited from those
who are determined to fight for freedom, even when the situation is
hopeless. Ideally, their personal freedom should accord with the freedom
of their country. This gives free peoples a great advantage which tips the
scales increasingly in their favor when warfare is prolonged.
Those for whom another form of existence is impossible are also forced to
rely on following the forest way. Invasion is succeeded by measures that
threaten much of the population: arrests, extensive searches, listing of
suspects, forced labor, and obligatory service in a foreign army. That drives
people to resist, either secretly or openly.
There is special danger when criminal elements invade. The follower of the
forest way may not fight in accordance with military law, but he is not a
criminal. Nor is his discipline soldierly, and that fact presupposes strong
and direct conduct.
As far as its location is concerned, the forest is everywhere. It is in the
wasteland and in the cities, wherever the follower of the forest way lives in
hiding or concealed beneath the mask of his profession. The forest is in the
desert and in the bush. The forest is in the fatherland and in any other
country where resistance can be offered. Above all, the forest is behind the
enemys own lines. The follower of the forest way is not in thrall to that
optical illusion which sees the attacker as an enemy of the nation. He knows
his predicament, the hiding-places of the oppressed, the minorities waiting
for their moment. He wages guerrilla warfare along railway tracks and
supply routes; he threatens bridges, power-lines, and depots. His activities
force the dispersal of troops and the strengthening of guards. The follower
of the forest way is responsible for reconnaissance, for sabotage, for
spreading news among the population. He makes his way into impassable
terrain and becomes anonymous, so as to reappear when the enemy shows
signs of weakness. He spreads constant unrest and causes nocturnal
panics. He can even paralyze armies, as happened to Napoleons forces in
Spain.
The follower of the forest way does not have extensive means of combat
at his disposal. However, he knows how weapons that cost millions can be
destroyed through bold actions. He knows their tactical weaknesses, their
defects, their destructibility. He also has greater freedom in choice of
location than soldiers do, and will attack where limited means can cause
great damage: in bottlenecks, in arteries leading through difficult terrain,
and in places far removed from military bases. Each advance reaches the
most exposed of positions where men and equipment become precious
because they have to be transported over huge distances. For every
combatant there are a hundred more linked up in the supply line. And this
one combatant encounters the follower of the forest way. Here we return
again to our ratio.

The world situation favors following the forest way. It creates equilibria
which call forth free actions. In the global civil war, every attack must
expect difficulties in his own hinterland. And every new area that falls to
him enlarges this hinterland. At the same time he has to intensify his
methods, which leads to an avalanche of reprisals. His opponent makes
this undermining, and the encouragement of it, his first priority. This
means that even if he cant expect the direct support of a world power, the
follower of the forest way can reckon with weapons and supplies. He is not,
however, a follower of political parties.
Following the forest way conceals a new principle of defense. This can be
practiced whether armies exist or not. In all countries, particularly in small
ones, people will recognize that its preparation is indispensable. Large-
scale weapons can be produced and possessed by only super-states. The
forest way can be followed by the smallest minority, even by the individual.
This is the answer freedom has to give. And it has the last word.
Following the forest way is linked more closely to freedom than any
armaments; in it resides the original will to resist. That is why only
volunteers are suited to it. They will defend themselves in all circumstances
regardless of whether or not the state prepares, arms, or calls on them.
They therefore provide an existential demonstration of their freedom. The
state which lacks this kind of consciousness will decline into being a mere
satellite.
Freedom is the big issue today. It is the power that masters fear. It is the
main concern of the free human being; not just freedom itself, but also the
way in which it can effectively be represented and made visible in
resistance. We do not want to go into details. Fear will already be reduced
through recognition of its role in the event of catastrophe. Catastrophe
must be prepared for, just as one practices for a shipwreck when setting
out on a voyage at sea. Wherever one people prepares itself for following
the forest way, it will inevitably become a fear-inducing power.
A power which places the emphasis on following the forest way
demonstrates that it has no intention of launching an offensive war.
Nevertheless, it could make its defensive powers very strong, even acting
as a deterrent at no great expense. That would make long-term policy
possible. The fruits fall into the hands of those who know their rights and
can wait.
Brief mention should be made of the possibility that following the forest
way, where necessity and freedom recognize each other, may exert an
influence on armies, in that the primal forms of resistance, from which the
military derive, once again enter into history. When a terrible threat results
in the emergence of a naked sense ofto be or not to be, freedom is
elevated beyond the legal sphere onto another more holy level, where
fathers, sons, and brothers unite. Military systems cannot hold out against
that. The view that mere empty routine can cope with things is more
dangerous than lack of weapons. However, that is not a question which
relates directly to following the forest way. In this here the individual
determines the way in which he upholds freedom. When he decides to
follow soldierly discipline, this will be transformed into freedom, will be one
of its forms, one of its means. The free man endows the weapon with
meaning.