Männerbund

“After all, historical, especially archaeological interests are closely interwoven with graves; basically, the world is a grave into which the ages descend and from which they rise again like asphodels. These processes are a sowing and reaping, and Orpheus lives in every historian.” — Ernst Jünger, Aladdin’s Problem.

“Why was the true means of expression denied to me? I am made for seeing. My memory clings only to the visual, to such a degree that I retain melodies only when I have played the notes. I believe I might have become a painter of rank, had I been led in that direction in my early years. A solitary brooder, shy of men, whose longing always went out to vast landscapes — the horizon of the sea, distant mountains, vast plains. For years I carried sketchbooks in my pocket and characterized people with a few strokes, but before the landscape, I lacked confidence in my means. I dreamed only of landscapes — broad, colorful, flooded with light — I had a strong aversion to winter scenes — perhaps a few tiny figures of men, animals, a ruin, a ship, a tower, yet still deserted of people. The landscape itself was meant to speak.” — Oswald Spengler, Eis heauton.

“Year after year, I was increasingly burdened by a sorrow that Hölderlin attributes to Hyperion: the feeling of being a stranger in one’s own homeland. This is borne out by the scars and stigmata, both of mind and body, left by an unhappy yet indelible love—love for the people, and not for political faction.” — Ernst Jünger on his 80th birthday, 29 March 1975.

Napoleon.

“Time is the great—indeed, the only—source of the tragic. To overcome time is the great task, one that can be approached only through symbols. Time prevails; it cannot itself be overcome.” — Ernst Jünger, Autor und Autorschaft.

In Eumeswil, Ernst Jünger likens the writing of history to placing flowers on a grave—a beautiful but ultimately transient act.

“A thought at this moment: ‘Freedom in the nineteenth-century sense cannot be restored, as many people still dream. It must rise up to new and freezing heights of the historical process and higher still: like an eagle soaring above the turrets that tower above the chaos. Even freedom must pass through the pain. It must be earned again.’” — Ernst Jünger, 9 December 1942 — Krapotkin (North Caucasus).

One of the few surviving poems from Ernst Jünger’s early years.